


Security, Survival, and a Safe

by Diary



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Awkward Conversations, Background Relationships, Bechdel Test Fail, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Canon Queer Character, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Disturbing Themes, Friends Become Romantic Partners, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Minor Fitzgerald Grant/Olivia Pope, POV Multiple, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU, preseries look at Cyrus's and Tom's developing relationship largely from Cyrus's POV. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Security, Survival, and a Safe

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Scandal.

Cyrus has just sat down when he hears, “Buy you a drink?”

Looking over, he sees Tom Larsen, one of the Secret Service agents assigned to Fitz’s detail, standing nearby in a gray sweatshirt and a pair of black slacks and white running shoes.

“I heard you don’t drink,” he comments.

Sitting down, Tom gives a slight nod. “I was supposed to be Hal’s designated driver, but instead, I put him and a young woman in a cab together.”

“Ah,” Cyrus sympathetically replies. “And she didn’t have any friends you could have bonded over being left behind with?”

“She had a friend,” Tom answers. “Not my type.”

The bartender comes over.

“Scotch, please,” Cyrus says. “Neat.” He starts to get out his wallet.

“I’ve got it,” Tom says. Before Cyrus can protest, he’s handing the money over. “And a soda water for me, please.”

Once the bartender is gone, Cyrus raises an eyebrow. “Olivia or someone else didn’t happen to send you here to keep an eye on me, did they?”

Giving him a puzzled look, Tom answers, “No, sir. You can talk to Hal on Monday.”

“Okay. Then, as politely as possible: What’s a young man who’s been ditched by his friend in a bar on a Saturday night doing talking to me?”

“Hoping you’ll answer some questions I have about Chanakya,” Tom answers.

Cyrus studies him. “Are you taking classes somewhere, Agent Larsen, or do you just have unusual interests outside of work?”

“Both,” Tom answers. “I, uh, also have Hal as my friend. There were college classes being offered at a mall, and he decided to take an economics class because he saw a pretty woman signing up for it. He also decided I would sign up with him. It turned out, she’s a lesbian, but since Hal is actually good with numbers, he’s having a good time. I could probably balance my chequebook, if I had to, but I prefer to just not use cheques. Chanakya is the first interesting thing I’ve gotten out of the class, but our professor doesn’t like to spend much time on him.”

Their drinks arrive.

“Let’s start with you telling me what you already know about Chanakya and go from there,” Cyrus says.

…

When last call comes, Cyrus comments, “I wish I’d had more like you in my classes when I was teaching.”

“Probably not,” Tom says. “Most teachers and professors I’ve had haven’t liked me very much. Thank you for this.”

“Thank you for the drinks,” Cyrus says. “Do you have a way to get home? Oh, right, never mind. You were going to be Hal’s designated driver. Safe trip, then. I’m going over to Liv’s.”

“Would you like me to take you?”

“No, I’m going to the restroom, and then, I’m calling a cab.”

“I’ll wait until it gets here,” Tom says in a tone brokering no argument.

…

Next Saturday, Cyrus inquires, “Did Hal find another woman?”

“He’s still seeing the one he met last week,” Tom answers. Holding up a binder, he asks, “Buy you another drink in exchange for help with my test?”

“You’re allowed to have help on a test? Wait, you’re allowed to take a test home? By definition, that is homework, then, not a test.”

“Well, by definition, work assigned to be done outside of class usually doesn’t have the explicit requirement it be done at home,” Tom replies. “But, yes, sir. The professor called this a test, and the scoring is different from the scoring on homework. He said we weren’t allowed to look up the answers online, but other forms of research were fine.”

“How would he even know if you looked it up online?”

“Colleges have started implementing various methods to try to identify and curb such actions.”

Suddenly feeling unbearably old, Cyrus sighs. “No to the drink, yes to helping you with your incorrectly labelled schoolwork. Sit down, Tom.”

…

“Tom, in the navy, what did you do during shore leave?”

“I went to the nearest library and read,” Tom answers.

“And if there wasn’t a library nearby?”

“There always was, sir.”

“Trying this again, where did your fellow crewmates go during shore leave?”

“I didn’t pay much attention. Some of them went to bars, some to the movies. If they had family nearby, most of them would go see them.”

“Did you have an allowance growing up?”

“No, sir. I’m an orphan. I lived in a group home until I was ten, and then, I got accepted into a nearby military academy.”

“Did you have a job as a teenager?”

“Yes, sir. McDonald’s.”

“What did you spend your money on?”

“I didn’t.”

“No, of course not,” Cyrus says. “Tom, the reason you aren’t understanding this is because, until very recently, you have never spent money on anything in your life. Which, with that in play, I’m not sure how to get you to understand this. Haven’t you ever wanted something that you weren’t provided for and couldn’t earn simply through privileges?”

“Not often,” Tom answers.

“Have you ever had a serious girlfriend? Or even just a girl you really wanted to impress?”

A look crosses Tom’s face. “No, sir. Relationships tend to mean sacrifices when it comes to the job, and I’m not willing to make those sacrifices.”

Well, Cyrus thinks, at least, you realise this and are honest about it.

He truly believes, if not for his dedication to his job, he and Janet could have been happy together. Whatever he felt in his youth, whatever he didn’t feel every time she and he had sex, he was never even tempted to try tapping his foot in the men’s room.

“And the last time I said this, I got yelled at,” Tom continues, “but I do see a double standard in play. Women are just as capable as men, and therefore, they deserve all the same rights. They deserve the same acknowledgement, compensation, and opportunities men receive. I agree fully with all of that. What I have trouble comprehending is why it still largely falls on men to buy things in exchange for women’s time and attention. Shouldn’t it be: Two people like one another and that’s what motivates them to spend time and do things together?”

Cyrus laughs. “People are complicated, Tom. You seem to be one of the few genuinely uncomplicated ones. Not unintelligent, just not very ambitious or interested in interpersonal relationships. Men and women have been trying to figure out how to navigate relationships since the beginning of time, and yes, with all the sudden, radical shifts in society, it’s harder than ever for both. But you’re young, and if you ever do find yourself interested in someone, you might have an easier time than you think.”

Then again, in Cyrus’s experience, when people like Tom fall, they fall hard and are sometimes too devoted for anyone’s good.

“Now, what kind of books do you read?”

“Almost anything, sir. I prefer ones exploring mythology. Greek is my favourite, but Chinese comes in a close second.”

“Maybe I can work with that,” Cyrus says.

…

Tom still doesn’t completely understand some of the concepts, but he’ll get a good grade, at least.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Same time next week?”

At Tom’s surprised look, he shrugs. “I have nothing better to do with my Saturday nights.”

Smiling, Tom nods.

…

“Tom, that model was dependent on slavery.”

“Robotics,” Tom mumbles around the pen in his mouth. Taking it out, he circles something and pushes the paper across the booth. “I’m having a little trouble with my presentation of the idea, but with the advances in robotics over the years, the model could be reintroduced without the subjugation of lower socioeconomic classes. Unless I completely have the numbers wrong.”

He looks expectantly at Cyrus.

“The numbers are sound, but do you happen to remember me explaining that no economic model works as well in application as on paper?”

“We’re not expected to actually apply the model to real life.”

“Yes, but-” Cyrus pauses when he sees two men walk in together hand-in-hand.

Tom follows his eyes, taps on the paper, and says, “Hal is going with…”

Cyrus tells himself to relax and says, “Hal is doing what the professor expects. His model has been deemed the best by countless economists.”

“The leading economic theorists and other countless economists are wrong,” is Tom's stubborn reply.

“I can help you with your presentation, but you might not get the grade you think you deserve,” Cyrus warns.

“I understand.”

They work on polishing up Tom’s presentation, and Cyrus completely forgets about the couple by the bar until he sees them leaving.

...

“I’m buying,” Cyrus insists. He hands the money over before Tom can protest. “Congratulations on your A.”

“Hal scored higher than me.”

“Hal did a very good job at understanding things the way the professor does,” Cyrus replies.

Tom makes a small noise. “He’s thinking about taking Introduction to International Economics.”

Cyrus takes in his tone. “Tom, tell me you aren’t thinking about taking it with him. You don’t like economics. Yes, you have some interesting ideas and are undoubtedly a dedicated worker, but let’s both be honest and acknowledge you really aren’t that good at the subject. If you hadn’t found someone to walk you through every assignment, you would not have an A.”

“It’s something to do,” Tom offers.

“Seriously, get a girlfriend, join a bowling team, something,” Cyrus orders. “I’d suggest helping out Governor Grant by finding out dirt on Senator Langston, but Olivia would kill me if I gave that order to a Secret Service agent.”

…

On Wednesday, there’s a knock on Cyrus’s office door.

“Come in.”

Tom appears with a folder, a cup of coffee, and Cyrus’s favourite donut. “Sir,” he says. Closing the door, he sets the three down on Cyrus’s desk. “Daniel Douglas Langston enjoys the company of men in non-platonic ways.”

Feeling his world spinning, Cyrus manages, “What?”

Tom opens the folder.

On autopilot, Cyrus picks it up.

Thorough, is the first thing to pop into his head. Followed by: Oh, Sally…

“Why are you showing me this, Tom?”

Tom gives him a look. “You wanted dirt on Senator Langston.”

“I didn’t- you weren’t supposed to- I never expected you to actually take me seriously!”

“I don’t think I’d like bowling any more than I do economics,” Tom says. “All my life, my life has been strictly regimented. At the risk of you yelling about how claiming apoliticism is a hanging offence, it’s my job to protect Governor Grant from harm, not help him get elected, but I have too much free time on my hands. At least, this was something of a challenge.”

“Liv’s going to kill me,” Cyrus mutters.

“She doesn’t have to know, and technically, you never gave me an order. I did this all on my own. If, however, you gave me other assignments in the future, she wouldn’t have to know about them, either.”

For a long moment, Cyrus studies him.

Hoping this doesn’t come back to bite him, Cyrus makes a decision and says, “Sit down, Tom.”

…

One night, they end up having dinner at some Italian restaurant near headquarters, and Cyrus is unsurprised by how sickeningly healthy Tom’s order is.

“Why’d you choose the Navy,” he asks. “I’m assuming the military was always something you were planning on, but what made you specifically choose the Navy?”

Tom considers the question. “They have submarine divisions,” he answers. “Claustrophobia has never been a problem for me. When I was a kid, there was this tunnel near the group home, and I’d sneak out and go sit in it. It was too dark to read in, and the water came up past my ankles, but it was peaceful.”

Cyrus has a feeling there’s a lot more to this story, but he’s not sure if it’d be a good idea to ask it.

“And you went into Secret Service afterwards because?”

“The benefits are good,” Tom answers.

“That’s a very patriotic answer,” Cyrus sarcastically comments

A loud voice hurling slurs suddenly fills the restaurant.

Looking over, Cyrus sees an obviously gay couple, a drunken man, and the drunken man’s female companion trying to coax him away.

Then, he sees Tom striding over, and before he can stop him, Tom is at the table, and Cyrus has somehow followed him.

“Secret Service,” Tom announces while showing his badge. “What’s the problem here?”

“We’re not doing anything wrong,” one of the men says with a quiet defiance.

The drunken man makes it clear he disagrees.

“Sir, you need to-”

The man pokes him. “You don’t have any jurisdiction here. And they’re the problem, not me.”

“Secret Service has jurisdiction everywhere in the United States, sir, as well as the ability to make warrantless arrests,” Tom calmly replies. “These gentleman aren’t the ones causing a scene and endangering the safety of the other patrons. I would suggest you call a cab and leave before I’m forced to-”

The drunk’s eyes land on Cyrus, and he gives an ugly laugh. “Oh, so, the Secret Service lets that kind in, does it?”

“I would have thought you’d notice the ring on his finger, considering the fact you didn’t want anyone to notice one on yours,” Tom says, and amazed, Cyrus notices the man does, indeed, have a faint white line around his left ring finger. “Unless you’re divorced, you should know that, if I’m forced to arrest you, your wife will be contacted, and the fact you aren’t wearing a ring and were in the company of an attractive young woman in a restaurant will likely reach her. Out of respect for the woman in question,” Tom nods politely to the terrified looking woman, “I’m giving you a chance to walk away, sir.”

This causes the woman to leap into action. She claps a hand over the man’s mouth, digs one of her stiletto heels into his leg, and despite her size, manages to half-drag, half-push him away.

Unsettled and uncomfortably impressed, Cyrus goes to sit down and only notices once he does Tom is quietly talking to the couple.

When Tom comes back, Cyrus finds himself blurting out, “You know that I’m divorced, right?”

Nodding, Tom says, “I saw an opening and took it.”

“So, the real answer to my question is that you have a protective streak a mile wide in you.”

Shaking his head, Tom says, “No, it isn’t. It’s my job to be protective, and I do my job well. In other words, I’m protective because it’s my job; this job wasn’t chosen because I’m protective.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cyrus says. At Tom’s vaguely affronted look, he continues, “Not that how you handled that wasn’t very impressive, but did you ever stop to think how your involvement might reflect on Governor Grant’s campaign?”

“No,” Tom bluntly answers.

Cyrus sighs. “You know, it’s really not the fact that you don’t see how great he would be for this nation if elected that bothers me. What bothers me the most is that you genuinely strive to have no political opinions of your own. At the very, very least, you could care about what the candidates are like when it comes to Secret Service.”

“If the job becomes unsuitable, I can always resign.”

“Yes, and you could go almost anywhere if you did,” Cyrus persists. “There are thousands of men and women, some of them very young, who have extremely limited employment options, and those options are the best of an already terrible situation. They need people who will help change things for them.”

Suddenly, Tom smiles, and Cyrus feels an almost painful twist in his stomach. “Then, they’re lucky they have you, sir.”

…

He’s halfway through a meeting with Liv when he realises he’s been absently rubbing at his finger.

One look at her face tells him she’s noticed, too.

“Let’s start with: No, I haven’t met anyone. No, I’m not ready to meet anyone. I don’t even want to,” he says. “Still, it’s been months, and for reasons I don’t quite understand, wearing it has started to feel like a case of false advertising.”

Her sympathetic, kind smile brightens. “Good for you, Cyrus. It’ll get easier. I promise.”

“I hope so. Now, back to reworking the newest proposal for subsidised lunch programs.”

“Luckily, we aren’t going to have to twist Sally’s arm on this one, but that new junior senator from Oklahoma? My gut acts up every time I see him. More importantly, though, right now, he’s objecting to the bill on the grounds of…”

…

Cyrus finds Tom eating alone in the breakroom. “Don’t you and Hal usually go out for lunch together?”

Swallowing his bite of sandwich, Tom takes a drink. “It’s Tammy, his girlfriend’s, birthday.”

“Good for them,” Cyrus says. Looking around, he sees there’s no one nearby. After peeking out the door to be absolutely sure, he sits down. “Up for another challenge, Tom?”

There’s a certain brightness to Tom’s eyes when he nods.

“Senator Irish, which is the man in question’s actual last name, not someplace I think he’s ever set foot in- I need information on why exactly he’s opposing this latest bill Governor Grant is trying to get implemented. Not his stated reason. His stated reason isn’t ringing true.”

“I’ll get right on it, sir.”

 …

A week and a half later, Tom comes into his office with a can of Sprite and a package of crackers.

Before Cyrus can say anything, Tom suddenly reaches over and takes his cup of coffee.

“Excuse me,” he sputters.

“You aren’t going to like this,” Tom quietly tells him.

“I don’t know of anyone who likes having their coffee-”

“Irish,” Tom says. “The Oklahoma junior senator.” Looking at him with an alarming amount of pity, Tom sets the coffee on the ground and puts the can and crackers on his desk. Opening the can and package, he softly says, “Brace yourself, Cyrus.”

Tom withdraws a folder from his jacket and pushes it over.

Cyrus opens it and wishes he never had.

“And- you’re absolutely- there’s no way this could possibly be wrong, is it? Someone trying to set him up? He’s truly- he’s truly guilty of this?”

“Yes.”

Feeling close to crying, Cyrus asks, “And this isn’t even the worst of it, is it? This is the mildest, for lack of a better word, that you decided to show me.”

“I know eating is the last thing you feel like doing, but eat a cracker and take a drink,” Tom orders. “You’re about thirty seconds away from throwing up, your blood pressure and sugar levels are going haywire, and that headache you have is close to turning into a full-blown migraine.”

Shakily, Cyrus complies, and then, puts his head down on the desk and takes deep breaths.

When he’s able to look back up, he says, “Get me the rest, Tom. Governor Grant is going to need everything to give to- I’m assuming the FBI will take over.”

“Are you sure that’s the best way to handle this?”

“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have the power to have someone killed,” he snaps. “So, yes, I’m going to do the right thing and have this- monster thrown in the smallest hole a supermax prison can provide.”

“I didn’t doubt that,” Tom says. “However, with all due respect, you aren’t looking at this with the level of analysis you usually apply to situations. Digging up dirt on your candidate’s opponents isn’t illegal, and it’s not particularly surprising, but when it gets out that someone actually did, that person’s reputation suffers.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your name out of it,” Cyrus irritably promises.

“My name isn’t the issue,” Tom tells him. “All of this information was gathered legally, and people would be more focused on my investigative abilities rather than why I utilised them. Governor Grant’s campaign manager and chief of staff admitting to personally having people dig up dirt on Governor Grant’s opponents- Claiming you had a feeling something was off and decided to have him investigated out of concern has elements of the truth, but there are proper channels to go through in such cases, and most people are going to assume this was a standard-”

“Yes, thank you, Tom, you’re just making it worse. I know what this could do to me, but short of sending an anonymous tip to the authorities, I don’t have many options here. We know Irish has buddies in law enforcement, and for all we know, they could be the type who would catch this and make it disappear. They can’t do that if Governor Grant knows and is applying pressure.”

“Not many,” Tom agrees. “But there are other options.”

“Happen to know the number of a professional assassin, then? I could probably pay whatever they want.”

“I know people who’d probably do it for free,” Tom comments.

While Cyrus is trying to process this, Tom continues, “But whether you like the fact some part of you is trying to work out how to use this situation for political gain or not, that part of you exists. Having him discreetly killed isn’t going to do much for what you want accomplished. One of Hal’s ex-girlfriends is a journalist. Part of the reason they broke up is because she is extremely good at her job. If he gave this to her as an anonymous source connected to the Grant campaign-”

Cyrus quickly fills in the blanks. “Involving your friend in this- are you really prepared to do that?”

“I wouldn’t let him see as much as I’ve shown you,” Tom answers. “Hal is a genuine hero. I don’t know if the world will ever know that, but helping take down someone like Irish is something he’ll never regret doing.”

“As quickly as possible, do it.”     

Tom nods and leaves.

…

After Irish is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, Cyrus scoffs when Tom orders some non-alcoholic drink and takes a heavy drink of his own beer. “I’ve never understood how some people could be so calm. I am not a calm person. Too emotional, more than one person has called me. I usually got back at them, because for all I’m not calm, I am vindictive, and I can be patient. Tell me honestly, are you naturally like this, or did something make you?”

Tom is quiet for a long moment. When his drink comes, he says, “When I was young, it wasn’t so much calm as I just automatically shut down. Mild catatonia describes it. The number of things that could overwhelm me was numerous. It was a mental flight reaction. As I got older, I learned how to withdraw without actually shutting down. I turned it into a fight reaction.”

“It didn’t protect me much,” Tom continues. “Whoever said, ‘Just ignore them, and they’ll stop,’ either had a much different and better experience than I did or didn’t know what they were talking about. But as I got older, it turned into an asset. People are more willing to give you things if they don’t know how much you want it.”

Blearily, Cyrus looks over.

“Security,” Tom tells him. “I want a lot of money and a lot of options. There are times I want nothing more than to eat something sweet. I’ve gotten drunk just to see what it’s like, but on the rare occasions I think a drink might be nice, I worry that there might be some predisposition to alcoholism in my genes. There isn’t much that I want to buy, and most of the options, I have no interest in ever pursuing. But I want to be healthy and know that, if something unforeseeable does happen to me, there’s a chance I might come out of it alright.”

“Doesn’t sound much like living to me,” Cyrus mumbles.

“Living and surviving aren’t always the same thing,” Tom says. “I chose survival at a very young age.”

“And I’m done,” Cyrus declares. He pushes his empty beer bottle away. “I really- I have more regrets than I’d care to admit in my life. Marrying Janet is probably one of the biggest. You’re a grown man, and you seem to have things figured out better than I did at your age, but one piece of advice: If you only focus on surviving, you’re going to hurt other people. You’re going to hurt yourself. And we both know that you’re more lonely than you are bored. That’s why, when Hal got a girlfriend, you latched onto the first other lonely person you could find. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being lonely, but if you could get over whatever childhood traumas you’re clinging to and be man enough to take a chance, a real chance, on another person, maybe you wouldn’t have to be.”

He carefully stands up and can’t bring himself to be surprised or exasperated when Tom quietly trails after him.

… 

In Cyrus’s opinion, which has been soundly ignored by everyone but Tom, who hasn’t so much ignored it as listened patiently and proceeded to remain firmly unhelpful, the dinner celebrating the possible signing of a new treaty with Jordan is a waste of time. Jordan’s prime minister hates the current President, the President is an idiot who prefers Langston and her ilk to Fitz, and Langston hasn’t helped matters any by going on record as saying there’s never been anywhere near the number of Christian extremists as there have been extremists of other certain religions.

Regardless of these facts, the pointless state dinner is happening, and everyone from Liv to Mellie Grant has threatened to do horrible things if he tries to get out of going.

“Cyrus!”

Wincing, he says, “I know, Liv, you hate this tie. Which is why I only keep it for emergencies. You can ask my driver, we hit a road bump, and I got ink all over my other. There really isn’t-”

“Stop talking,” she orders. Her eyes desperately scan the area.

“Oh, for heaven sakes, it’s a-”

“Tom!”

He tries to grab her. “Olivia, you can’t interrupts his perimeter sweep-”

Olivia has already gotten Tom over, however, and ignoring his nonplussed expression, is tugging at his tie. “Tom, I’m sorry, but you need to switch with Cyrus. He cannot be seen, let alone photographed, in that monstrosity. Cyrus, tie off, now!”

“Letting part of Fitz’s detail be seen in it, though-”

“Tom, you’re good at avoiding being seen. Turn on your invisibility power tonight,” she says. “And yes, it’s better that a Secret Service agent be seen in, I told you to take that off, than you.”

Someone calls for Olivia, and moving over, Tom finishes pulling off his tie. “I’ve got this, ma’am.”

Throwing her hands up, she glares at each of them before putting on a pleasant face and not-quite stalking off.

“I could be working on getting a bill passed that would cut the abortion rate in half right now.” He realises Tom is carefully undoing his tie, and making sure to stand still, he continues, “One that wouldn’t be a threat to Roe v Wade, because it would actually give women and teenage girls legitimate ways to avoid getting knocked up unprepared instead of the usual tactics of slut shaming, pretending rape isn’t epidemic, and trotting out the frankly ridiculous myth that everyone wants and needs babies in their lives. Admittedly, this is a threat to my conservative cred and possibly my Republican membership, but at least, it wouldn’t be time wasted.”

Tom finishes adjusting his tie on Cyrus and loops Cyrus’s over his own neck, and suddenly, Cyrus is struck by how the lights are hitting Tom’s face and clearly illuminating a mixture of amusement, fondness, and something Cyrus can only describe as ‘soft’. As Tom looks between Cyrus and the admittedly horrid tie he’s tying, he says, “Sir.”

Unsure how to respond, Cyrus settles for, “Thank you, Tom. You better get back to whatever you were supposed to be doing.”

…

After the pointless dinner, he and Tom meet up to swap their ties back, and Cyrus says, “Sorry for Olivia. And for the fact you had to wear this all night.”

“Ms Pope was right about my ability to go unnoticed,” Tom says.

Then, he visibly hesitates.

“Tom,” Cyrus prods.

“Was the divorce the only reason you regret marrying your ex-wife?”

Taking a breath, Cyrus shakes his head and mentally tries to formulate the correct response. “I won’t say that I didn’t love her. The truth is that I still love Janet. But- I wasn’t in love with her. You once said that a relationship meant making sacrifices towards your job that you aren’t willing to make. That’s me in a nutshell. The difference is, in those days, being single past a certain age was very often a detriment to a man’s career. So, I found a wonderful, kind, intelligent woman who made me laugh, who I could make laugh, who I enjoyed spending time with, and I convinced her it was a kind of love that it wasn’t. I mean, maybe it was on her part, but on my part, it was- security.”

Tom nods.

…

There’s a knock on the door, and Cyrus gratefully ends his phone call with Irish’s replacement. “Come in!”

Tom comes in and shuts the door.

“You have that look on your face,” Cyrus notes. “If it’s another racist letter about Kagen’s appointment to Governor Grant’s staff-”

“It’s not,” Tom interrupts. “Could I speak to you privately, after work?”

“Sure, Tom,” he answers. “When’s your shift over?” After Tom tells him, he asks, “But is everything okay? If it’s really important, we can leave now.”

“After work is good, sir,” Tom answers.

…

They get dinner at a small mom and pop café.

“What’s going on, Tom?”

“I have information about something,” Tom says. “If I tell you, you need to promise my name never comes up.”

Uneasy at whatever could make Tom like this, Cyrus nevertheless says, “Of course.”

Shaking his head, Tom says, “This isn’t like the other things, Cyrus. This is something I’d normally mind my own business about, but when it comes to you- If you go to the people involved or make this knowledge public, no one can know that I was the one who told you. It could severely set back my career. I need actual assurance. Everyone knows that you and I talk outside of work.”

Taking a breath, Cyrus leans over and touches Tom’s arm. Holding his eyes, he says, “Tom, I promise: I never heard whatever you’re about to tell me from you. I will make sure no one ever questions that.”

Sighing, Tom says, “It’s about Governor Grant and Ms Pope.”

…

Cyrus is willing to bet, despite him keeping his promise, Tom is still regretting telling him about the affair.

Cyrus also looks at it as: If Tom is willing to sit in Cyrus’s office afterhours and listen to his rants, Tom has no one to blame but himself.

“First, it was a private matter, never mind how the voters would take that, then, it was this gag-inducing love story, even though they are both smarter and better than that, and now, I’m a racist! Caring that my governor is screwing his communications director behind his dear, sweet, she can shoot as well as any sharpshooter wife’s back is something I’d be doing regardless of what colour any of them were!”

Sitting down, he takes several drinks of water.

Feeling a little calmer, he asks, “Aside from it not being your business, what do you make of this situation?”

“It’s not surprising,” Tom answers. “I do believe there is a small number of people who can find someone they can be happy devoting the rest of their life to and that this person they’ve found can also be happy devoting the rest of their life to them. On a larger scale, monogamy and lifetime emotional commitments are unfeasible and set unrealistic expectations and standards. I haven’t researched the subject extensively, but from what I understand, marriage used to be something purely outside secular control. Mainly, it was used to make alliances between powerful families. Then, it became a political issue, and governments started regulating it.”

“Mrs Grant loves her husband, I can see it in her eyes. Maybe he loved her at one time, maybe he didn’t, but right now, she’s security. Ms Pope isn’t.”

Suddenly feeling extremely tired, Cyrus says, “I know you’d never be a politician. Bear with the hypothetical. You’re governor, you’re going to be President of the United States of America soon, and you have the perfect wife and two wonderful children. Would you risk everything for- call it love, call it sex, call it whatever? Would you really decide doing this or that this person is worth everything?”

Tom considers the question. “Ms Pope isn’t my type, but I can see why Governor Grant loves her. Outwardly, of course, she’s beautiful, but it’s her eyes. I’ve always imagined Helen of Troy having eyes like those. I’ve never been in love, and it’s questionable whether I’ve ever even truly loved anyone or anything, but having someone like that loving you- I imagine it’d take either a very strong or completely heartless man to resist.” 

“Or just a gay one,” Cyrus supplies.

Shrugging, Tom says, “Her appeal is only somewhat rooted in sexuality. It’d be hard for any man to resist falling into her orbit, regardless of whether he wanted to sleep with her or not.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m proof of that,” Cyrus mutters. Waving away Tom’s look, he says, “You love Hal.”

“I care about Hal,” Tom says. “Outside of work, I’d put myself in the line of fire for him.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Part of our training is we’re put in normal rooms with other people, and sometimes, nothing happens, but sometimes, the sound of a gunshot fills the room. Sometimes, it’s accompanied with power outages or the sprinklers going off or foreign voices suddenly shouting. The purpose is to see how we immediately react. Do we panic? Do we try to protect ourselves? Do we try to get to our fellow agents? Do we identify the non-agents in the room in that split second and try to protect them?”

“And just out of curiosity, how high was your protectiveness score?”

“It’s part of my job,” Tom repeats. “And anyway, the point is, every time, I never thought of Hal. One time, he was in the room with me, and he stumbled and fell. It wasn’t his fault, but it happened. I saw, and I didn’t even hesitate in not going to him. If it’d been a real attack, he might have died, and after, I would have been sad, but because of me, the non-agents would have all been alive. I take pride it that.”

“As you should,” Cyrus says. “You still love him. Healthy love is sometimes selfish. It’s about putting yourself and your needs and wants ahead of someone else and hurting them because you know, if you don’t, you’ll end up hurting more. Obviously, there are limits, and there are times loving someone means being willing to sacrifice. But it can’t be all the time.”

“Are you worried that either Governor Grant or Ms Pope would sacrifice everything for the other?”

“Terrified,” Cyrus admits. “Any suggestions on what to do?”

“I’m not the right person to ask.”

“Didn’t think so,” Cyrus glumly states.

…

“Jordan is never going to sign the treaty,” Cyrus informs Tom. “This is another waste of my time.”

Tom knows better than to say anything, and Cyrus adds, “Just because I’m choosing to be there this time does not diminish my point. It only means two certain individuals should be shot and put out of my misery.”

They get to the door, and he realises he forgot his wallet. Groaning, he tells Tom, “If you have to, go on without me. I’ll catch the next limo. Just please, for the love of God, try to keep Governor and Mrs Grant sitting together.”

“Will do,” Tom agrees.

Cyrus goes back to his office, retrieves his wallet, and getting back to the door, is relieved to see Tom and the others are still there. Karen is talking to one of the drivers, and Gerry is showing Olivia something on his MP3 Player while their parents talk to Billy Chambers.

Tom sees him and, smiling, nods.

Nodding back, he starts to step out when everything freezes.

He hears what sounds like a car backfiring, feels himself being roughly jerked, and as if watching a movie, sees Tom shoving Fitz into the limo.

When he comes back to himself, there’s chaos in the building. A woman has a firm hold on a crying Jerry, there’s something on the news about a shooting near Grant headquarters, and his screaming does nothing to make the agents guarding the doors let him leave.

He jumps when his phone rings, and seeing _Olivia_ , he drops it. Hurriedly picking it back up, he desperately asks, “Livvie?”

“I’m okay,” she tells him, and he finds himself sliding down onto the floor with his back against the wall. “Everyone is fine. Okay, Cyrus? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, Fitz and Mellie? Karen? Jerry’s here, he’s fine. Could you please get someone to call him? Call me, if necessary, and I’ll give him my phone.”

“Of course,” she answers. “Fitz- his arm was hit. Just his arm, Cyrus, I swear to you, he’s fine. Karen and Mellie are fine.”

Painful worry spreads through at the memory of Tom being so close to Fitz. “What about Secret Service? Were any agents hit?”

Softly, she tells him, “Tom’s fine, Cyrus. So are all the others. He got Fitz to safety, and Hal got Karen and Mellie into a different limo. I don’t know who got me, but I ended up at the hospital with everyone else.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes out. “Okay, Liv, I’m glad you’re okay, but I really can’t stand to be around all this crying. Hang up, and get someone onto the phone with Jerry.”

“Okay,” she agrees with a sad laugh.

…

He feels someone shaking him, and sitting up on the couch, he sees Olivia.

Pulling her down, he kisses her cheek and wraps his hands around hers. “Anything?”

“A nutjob working alone. He keeps raving about Verna being a serial killer.”

“Verna Thornton? She’s in England right now, isn’t she?”

“Nutjob, Cy,” she reminds him.

“Right.”

“Oh,” she says. Moving her hands, she says, “Here.”

He looks over and sees Tom standing in the doorway.

While she leaves, he takes Tom in.

Tom is standing in a white undershirt with his holster strapped to his side, he’s missing his belt, his hair isn’t messy so much as not neatly gelled back, and most of importantly, he’s alive and breathing and not hurt.

Letting out a shuddery breath, Cyrus finds himself tightly clasping Tom’s shoulder and trying to reassure himself the solid, hard warmth isn’t going to disappear.

There’s a brief feeling of fingers running through his hair, but he can’t be sure whether it was real or not.

“We both need some proper sleep,” Tom says.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and reluctantly, he lets go of the shoulder.

…

Tom knocks on Governor Grant’s door.

“Come in, Tom,” Fitz says. “Shut the door.”

Complying, Tom responds, “Sir.”

“I know I officially thanked you, but do you realise that you might have saved my life, Tom?”

“This is about my transfer request, isn’t it, sir?”

“It is,” Fitz answers. He sits down on the edge of his desk. “Before I okay it and have to deal with Cyrus yelling down headquarters, I want to know exactly what is going on.”

“I hesitated, sir,” Tom quietly tells him.

“Excuse me?”

“During the shooting, sir. I hesitated.”

Sighing, Fitz says, “Tom, I know you might not be able to help but beat yourself up over that, but it’s not- That happens. You’re a hell of an agent, and you did your job better than most.”

“Respectfully, sir, you don’t understand. I don’t mean that I shut down. I didn’t. Above all, you are my priority. Even above your wife and children, your safety is my concern. When I heard that gunshot, my first thoughts and movements should have been towards you. They weren’t. They went to someone else, and I almost moved towards that person. Maybe if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have that cast around your arm.”

Giving him a sympathetic look, Fitz gently asks, “Cyrus?”

“Sir.”

“Tom- it really is okay. I don’t want you to leave, and I know Hal and Cy don’t, either. You could be reshuffled slightly so that, in the future, I’m not your first priority.”

Tom shakes his head.

“Can you tell me why not?”

“There are certain things Mr Beene doesn’t know about me, sir,” Tom says. “Private things that no one has a right to know. Before the shooting, him not knowing these things was preferable. Now, it’s not, but I don’t know certain things about him. I don’t know how he’d respond to knowing these things about me. It’s- I need to go, sir.”

Standing up, Fitz says, “In the end, only you can decide these things. Let me just say: Cyrus loves you, Tom. There are certain things I suspect about him that I don’t know, either, but I’ve seen you two together. You aren’t some random Secret Service agent who listens when he orders you around, and you aren’t a causal friend he can catch a bite to eat with. He cares about you. Very deeply.”

“It’s not enough, anymore.”

“Alright,” Fitz sadly agrees. He holds out his hand. “Good luck with wherever you go. It’s been an honour.”

Shaking it, Tom says, “Thank you, sir. The honour’s been all mine.”

…

Cyrus stands impatiently at Tom’s apartment door.

Finally, Tom opens it, and surprise crosses his face. “Cyrus.”

“Can I come in?”

Tom glances behind him before moving aside.

Inside, there are packed boxes and a large safe. Recognising the brand, Cyrus is briefly surprised Tom would pay so much money for one but quickly redirects his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Were you planning to tell me about your transfer, or was the plan always for me to learn about it by going through the daily rosters?”

“I planned to tell you,” Tom answers. “I was just trying to figure out the best way, and you read the rosters earlier than you usually do.”

Letting out a short laugh, Cyrus says, “I’m here, now. Tell me what’s going on, Tom.”

“The shooting affected me.”

“You can be affected here! I’m sorry, I realise I’m not being very sympathetic, but whatever issues you’re dealing with, you can get help and deal with them without resorting to leaving.”

“It used to be illegal for anyone who experienced same-sex attraction to serve in the armed forces,” Tom announces.

“What?”

Ignoring Cyrus’s confusion, Tom continues, “Now, there’s this gray area. If you’re open about such feelings, you aren’t allowed to serve, but if you don’t say anything and don’t get caught acting on or otherwise expressing any of these feelings, you’re allowed to serve.”

“Yes, thank you, Tom, I’m well-versed in Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

Tom starts packing things into one of the boxes. “The Secret Service doesn’t officially have such a gray area. Applicants aren’t to be discriminated against on the basis of sexual orientation.”

Realisation starts to hit. “Tom-”

Whether Tom really is just focused on packing or is deliberately choosing not to look at Cyrus, Cyrus doesn’t know. Tom continues, “I never liked anyone enough for it to be a problem until I joined the Grant detail. The closest I ever had to a genuine connection to another person was Hal, and what I had with him didn’t prepare me.”

Finally, Tom looks back at him. “During the shooting, I thought about someone. This person could ruin everything I’ve spent from the time I was ten years old building. I’ve spent my whole life surviving. I could have died. Worse, he could have died. In some ways, it’s the same choice as always: Take a chance at living, or keep surviving.”

“Except, now, I can’t stay here and do the latter. I’d have to do the former. Call it cowardice, call it me hurting myself and others, call it not being man enough, but I am not going to risk everything. He’s not worth it.”

Cyrus will be the first to admit his question of, “Who is he?,” isn't good, but at Tom’s look, he simply shrugs. “Can’t blame me for asking.”

They stand in silence for a long moment.

“I can’t stop you,” he finally says. “But I will miss you. Good luck, Tom.”

“Thank you.”

…

He’s trying to convince Liv it wouldn’t be the worst thing imaginable if someone set their crazed nutjob loose on Sally when he sees Hal and another agent carrying a large safe.

“All tasteless jokes about assassination aside, Billy Chambers is our best bet at bridging- Cyrus?”

“This might not make any sense, but would you happen to know if that was Tom’s safe?”

She glances around him. “Oh, yeah, probably. Hopefully, he and the Inspector General will be able to sort things out enough that he can make a clean break. Otherwise-”

“Wait. Hold- What is Secret Service doing transporting another agent’s property onto the premise, and how, what, and why does the Inspector General have to do with this?”

Her touch grounds him somewhat. “Cyrus, calm down,” she orders. “Hal is acting as a friend, not as Secret Service. Whoever that was with him, they were just helping him bring something heavy inside. There are some letters that Tom took a personal interest in. Threats received. He had copies made of every one and took the originals home. The Inspector General has never liked it, but Fitz backed Tom. Now that Tom’s leaving, the Inspector General wants the originals back, and Tom- my advice would be for him to comply, but he hasn’t asked for my advice.”

“Oh.”

She nods. “Now, back to Sally’s latest demands. Billy Chambers would probably be amenable to…”

…

Cyrus finds the safe sitting in the breakroom, and usually, he’d be appalled at the utter carelessness and stupidity of such a thing, but he knows it’s unlikely anyone is going to break in. It’s truly one of the best safes on the market: Fire and water resistant, has the option to be opened via one or a combination of: key, biometrics, and/or combination, and provides the option of taking a time stamped photo each time it is opened.

Tom would have the key stored somewhere relatively inaccessible where it wouldn’t be likely to get lost, Cyrus knows, and he’d likely elect not to go with the biometrics.

Remembering a conversation he and Tom had about passwords, Cyrus leaves and walks around until he finds Hal.

“Hal.”

Snapping to attention, Hal leaves the person he was talking to and comes over. “Sir?”

“A few years ago, you and Tom took an economics class. Do you remember the date you received your final grades on?”

Clearly puzzled, Hal answers, “Yes, sir.” He gives the date. “Why, sir?”

“Thank you, Hal,” Cyrus says.

He goes back to the breakroom and enters the date.

The safe clicks open.

Every letter has been sealed inside a plastic bag with a piece of tag on the bag containing the date, likely of when the letter was first received. There’s a small digital camera, pictures of unknown people with names and dates written on the back, and sheets of un-bagged paper along with a notebook.   

Looking through the loose papers and notebook, Cyrus quickly establishes Tom has been conducting surveillance, likely unofficial, and therefore, in an extremely gray area of legality, on several civilians.

He starts reading through the plastic and rapidly discovers two things about all the letters: The writers are the people Tom has under surveillance, and they all contain threats against and/or complaints about Cyrus himself.

…

He keeps pounding at Tom’s door until he hears an irritable, “Just a minute!”

Tom opens the door in nothing but a hastily wrapped towel around his waist with his skin and hair still heavily wet, and Cyrus simply shoves past him. If he takes a second to process this, he’ll probably have no choice but to jump out of the nearest window, and the nearest window is only about six feet above ground; with his luck, he’d end up with irreversible damage but still alive.

“I’m not worth it? Do you want to try again there? I know my faults, and you put up with all of them. Your little dilemma about telling me about Olivia and Fitz could have been solved by an unseen person feeding me an anonymous tip. But okay, let’s go with I’m only worth so much. Yet, you told me, the one person who could ruin everything for you, the information that I could use to ruin everything for you. So, whether you want to or not, try again, Tom.”

Readjusting his towel, Tom stares at him.

Managing to shove everything going on inside of him aside, Cyrus declares, “I’m waiting.”

“I know who you are, but I don’t know what,” Tom says. “All I know is that you married and divorced a woman you were never in love with. In all honesty, I don’t know what I am, either. Loving one person doesn’t give enough to draw a picture of what a person might be attracted to in general, especially when past attractions have always been relatively mild and superficial in nature.”

“And that’s it,” Tom says. “You could hurt me worse than I’ve ever been hurt before right now. Going further, if you did want me, it isn’t so much a question of whether to be open and figuring out how to do this without it compromising our separate career goals, it’s: Are you going to want me after reality starts to settle in, or are you just going to want some fun?”

Sighing, Cyrus pinches the bridge of his nose. Looking up, he quietly says, “I love you, too.”

Tom takes a sharp breath, and Cyrus has never seen his face look as vulnerable as it does now.

“If I promised you forever and a guaranteed happy ending, you’d know better than to believe me. I can’t promise I might not break your heart. What I will promise you is: I will try not to. I will try to make this work. I don’t just want some fun. I want to try to build a life with you, and more than anything, I hope you and I can do it.”

Tom moves forward and kisses him.

Cyrus responds.

Eventually, the towel hits the floor.

…

Cyrus knocks on Fitz’s office door.

“Come in!”

Fitz sets some papers down. “Hey, Cy.”

Closing the door, Cyrus announces, “This is going to be an awkward conversation. Don’t worry, though, it isn’t about you and Olivia.”

“Well, it has that going for it, at least,” Fitz offers.

Cyrus sits down. “I’m seeing someone.”

“That’s wonderful. Anyone I know?”

“It’s a Secret Service agent. Someone currently on your detail. I’m- we’re not sure how conflict of interest might play out.”

Smiling, Fitz says, “It shouldn’t be a problem. Well, not with me. Does Tom know? Because we both know how protective of you and just your happiness in general he can be. I don’t need any agents on my detail under attack from one of their own.”

“Oh, he definitely knows,” Cyrus answers. “Speaking of Tom, if he happened to be dating your chief of staff, would that be a barrier to him not transferring?”

Fitz catches his eyes and grins.

Cyrus feels his body slump in relief.

“Congratulations. To both of you,” Fitz says. “No, that shouldn’t be a problem at all. Olivia and I will both handle it if anyone tries to make it into one. It’s about time.”

“Did everyone know? I didn’t. Why didn’t anyone say something?”

“It shouldn’t be, but even with all the strides made in recent years, it’s still a sensitive issue,” Fitz answers. “I can’t speak for the others, but when it came to Tom, I knew years ago. I was never quite sure about you. But with Tom- I’d seen him happy before, but the first time I remember hearing him laugh, he was talking to you. He followed you around like a puppy. Then, I watched it turn into something subtler and much deeper.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you, Cyrus. I figured, if you did like men and felt the need to tell me, you’d do it in your own time and way. And without knowing about you, I couldn’t say anything at all about Tom. You understand why.”

“I do,” he acknowledges. “Fitz- thank you. For everything. It’s an honour working for you, but your friendship is more valuable than I can express.”

“I feel the same.” Fitz stands up, and Cyrus follows suit. “Now, why don’t you get home or back to Tom? Everything can be worked out in a day or two.” He offers his hand.

Cyrus shakes it.

…

Epilogue

Tom’s phone ringing wakes Cyrus up.

Grumbling, Tom untangles himself from around him and sits up to answer it. “Hello? Have you- I’ll be right there.”

“Is that for both of us? Does the President need us,” Cyrus inquires through a yawn.

“No,” Tom answers. “Hal has a flat tire.”

“Doesn’t he know how to change one by himself?”

“He does if he has a spare,” Tom responds. “I shouldn’t be gone for an hour, at the most.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“I will.” Leaning down, he kisses Cyrus. “I love you.”

Drifting back into sleep, Cyrus answers, “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: On a broad note, I don't know much about U.S. Secret Service and make no claims to accuracy, although, from what little research I've done, Tom really would have had the jurisidiction and right to arrest the drunken patron.
> 
> On a more character-related note, I didn't know this until recently, but Secret Service actually handles financial crimes. Add the fact that Brian Letscher, Tom's actor, has a degree in Economics, which I also didn't know until recently, and understandably, this fic may not work for some. However, unless it's definitively shown different on the show, I'm going to stick to my headcanon of Hal and Cyrus being good with numbers/economics/tax law and Tom essentially being, 'I understand little of this, but because I like the person talking, I will continue to listen.'


End file.
